A Series of Extra Scenes: The Hounds
by LittlePippin76
Summary: Probably not worth reading unless you've seen The Hounds of Baskerville, as it won't make any sense. Basically a series of fun extra scenes that I've imagined between the ones that we saw.
1. Guns

**Another series of extra scenes from me. **

**I was hoping to write these in order (per film, not for the series as a whole), but it's more likely that I'll publish whatever I think of whenever I think of it.**

**This one is from a prompt by HOS70 and i****t takes place immediately after the final explosion in Hounds.**

* * *

Guns

The four of them stood panting at the edge of the trees.

John focused first.

"Henry? Henry are you OK?" he asked.

"He's gone," Henry muttered. He squatted down by a tree and covered his head with his arms.

"It's OK, Henry," John said, squatting beside Henry. "It's all OK. Let's go home."

Sherlock walked over and offered Henry a hand. He pulled him to his feet, and nodded at him slightly. He then glanced at John.

"Are you OK?"

"Me? Yeah, course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"It was a pretty big explosion."

"Yeah, but… I'm fine. Stop being a weirdo."

Sherlock gave him a half grin, and for a moment John wondered whether Sherlock was more shaken than he cared to admit. He watched as he strode off beside Henry. He wondered if he'd find him at the bar later, drinking an extremely large scotch again. Or perhaps he'd sneak out the back with his elicit cigarettes, and smoke them all, one after the another because he didn't think John could see him. Because he was an idiot.

He shook his head and set off to follow them, but stopped almost immediately on seeing Lestrade, still leaning against a tree, still panting.

"Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"You OK?"

"No."

John nodded. "It's a weird feeling. It'll be gone in a bit though. Certainly the immediate effects will be gone in a minute or two."

Greg nodded.

John pulled him upright slightly, and encouraged him forwards with a hand on his back.

"John…?"

"Mm?"

"There was a massive dog, wasn't there?"

"Yes. There was a larger than average dog, with a slightly aggressive temperament. There wasn't a horse-sized, red-eyed monster trying to kill us."

"It _really_ looked like there was."

"Yeah."

"Until you killed it. Twice."

"Yeah. It's all gone now. We'll all sleep safely in our beds tonight."

Lestrade shuddered and they walked on in silence for a while. John encouraged him on to close the gap between them and the others slightly.

After a moment, Lestrade seemed much calmer.

"There is one thing that seemed pretty real though," he said. John looked at him. "It seemed very real that you took out a gun, and shot the dog. Twice. That seemed very real."

"Yes. Well, I had military training in firearms. I was surprisingly good."

"Yes. That's probably why it seemed so plausible."

"Yeah."

"Because I know you haven't got an unlicensed firearm."

"No. Course not. Just like seeing you with an unregistered firearm while you're _on holiday_ must have been a hallucination."

"Well yeah. Obviously." John looked straight ahead as he guided them onwards.

"Mm. And in reality, I'd have thought you were a much better shot than that."

"Well I was distracted by the monsters and the shadows and stuff."

"Yeah. And you didn't have a gun."

"True. I could have got one legitimately though."

"I know. But I'm fairly sure you didn't sign anything out, and you didn't have permission from the chief superintendent though." He glanced at Lestrade who was frowning. "Which is how I know it must have been part of the hallucination."

"Hm." Lestrade walked in silence for a while, before he looked at John again. "It does occur to me that police firearm training isn't as thorough as military firearm training. I'm slightly out of practice. And I don't have a gun."

"Mm. There's a shooting range I sometimes go to up in Walthamstow. I keep my two licensed weapons up there. You're welcome to join me next time I go if you want."

"Sounds good. It'll be good for me."

"Good. Right, I can't help but notice that Sherlock's rabbiting excitedly at Henry. I'd like to close in just enough so I can be sure he's not saying something completely inappropriate."

"Fair enough."


	2. More deadly than a rabbit

**This one follows John's line: 'to be fair, that is a pretty wide field'.**

* * *

More deadly than a rabbit.

Sherlock glanced across at John. The good doctor was gazing innocently out at the moor. Sherlock shook his head slightly and looked ahead at the road.

"Like a sheep with a shotgun," John said quietly.

Sherlock looked at his wing-mirror and tried hard not to smile.

"Or a budgie with a bazooka," John said.

Sherlock set his face and sniffed.

"Perhaps we're looking for a mole with a machete?" John said.

Sherlock snorted once and coughed to cover it.

"Or a goat with a grenade. Or a colt with a… Colt."

Sherlock sniggered and grinned. He wiped his face quickly and stopped grinning.

"Stop it," he said. "You're clearly not taking this seriously."

"I'm perfectly serious! We need to be on the lookout for something more deadly than a rabbit. I take that risk very seriously indeed."

"Is this because you're coming down from the stress you were experiencing while in Baskerville?"

"No, not at all. I was perfectly at ease there the whole time. Of course, I don't conveniently have a brother who can get me off a treason charge, but I was fine nonetheless."

"Good."

"I just know how you feel about wildlife, and I want you to be sure that if we stumble across a volatile vole with a Vickers, or a mischievous mouse with a missile launcher, I'll be completely ready to protect you."

Sherlock laughed for a while.

"Watch the road!" John told him.

"It's your fault! You're so juvenile!"

"Coming from you, that's quite a statement!"

"Just stop it!"

"Fine. I won't bother to tell you if we stumble across a nest of naughty nightingales nurturing a nuke."

Sherlock laughed until he had to pull over and wipe his eyes.

* * *

**Just to let you know, I rewatched hounds today, so have a couple more of these, but also, of _course_ John had a gun at the end! He took it from Henry! Do you know how hard I'm kicking myself right now?**

**Thank you very much for reading and reviewing!**

**Pips**


	3. An Average Mind

**This one takes place as they're driving back to the train station, following their little chat in the beer-garden over breakfast.**

* * *

An Average Mind.

Sherlock looked away from the road to glance at John. John was sitting quietly, looking through the windscreen. There was a tiny frown on his forehead. Sherlock sighed a very small sigh and turned his attention back to the traffic.

He considered apologising, but he decided against. He though it might be prudent for John to tell him what he'd done wrong this time. His best guess was the experiment, but it was equally as likely that he'd said something inappropriate when they were getting into the car.

John cleared his throat.

"Remind me when we get home to show you my school reports."

Ah.

"I don't need to see your school reports," Sherlock replied.

"They were good. I did well at school."

"I know you did."

"I'm not saying I was above average, because I wasn't."

Sherlock frowned.

"I was better than above average," John went on. "I may not have been _superior_, but I was a long way above average."

Sherlock smiled. "I know you were."

"And I got four A's at A level. That's not to be sniffed at."

"You got four A's and a B."

"Yeah, but the B was for general studies, so I don't count that one."

"No. I threw mine entirely and got a U."

John snorted. "Medical school too. I got a first class degree."

"I know! You were first in your year!"

John frowned and looked at him.

"Really?"

Sherlock glanced at him.

"Didn't you know?"

"No. There were seven of us with firsts in my year. They didn't give us individual rankings."

"Oh, well you were first."

"Oh. Well there you are then. I think that qualifies as being somewhat above _average."_

"I know. You're right. Next time I need an average mind to experiment on, I'll use Lestrade."

"Yes."

"Er, do you two remember I'm sitting back here?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes," they chorused.

"OK. Good then."


	4. Car

**This one slots in after John and Sherlock have travelled to Devon, but before they've reached the moor or the hotel.**

* * *

Car

Sherlock and John walked along the road from the train station.

"So, where do we go first?" John asked. "Do you want to go and see Henry's place, or go to the moor or the Baskerville place, or what?"

"First we need to get a car."

"A car? Why don't we just use cabs?"

"We're in the middle of nowhere." Sherlock frowned. "I'm not going to wait around while local taxis decide whether they can be bothered to trek out to the middle of nowhere. We'll drive."

"OK."

They rounded the corner and a car hire depot loomed into view. John stopped for a moment and sighed. He hurried on after Sherlock.

"OK, Sherlock, you might want to remember that there are some quite narrow roads in Devon."

"Yes."

"And there are only the two of us."

"Yes, I know."

"We won't need to do any off-roading. I've looked at the map and all the major places are really easy to reach…"

"Yes, fine, good."

"So we probably won't need anything more than, I don't know, a Fiesta or something."

"A Fiesta?"

"Or a Golf! Look, there's a Golf! The Golf would be perfect!"

"Fine, you drive the Golf then."

"I can't drive."

Sherlock stopped and turned to look at him.

"You can't drive?"

"No. I can't drive. I've never needed to. Look, all I'm saying is that we both know that there's a great, big, shiny, _monstrosity_ there…"

"Yes, so there is!"

"And we don't need it."

"Fine. You're right. We don't need it_._"

"Good. OK." John watched Sherlock for a moment. He did the thing with his collar and his cheekbones, and John sighed. "You're going to hire the great, big, shiny monstrosity, aren't you?"

"Yep."

* * *

**Sorry it's been so long! I'm so horribly overworked! Hopefully, there will be more soon.**

**Pip xxx**


	5. Can you walk?

**My very first prompt for these extra scenes fics! In fact, it was so early that was prompted at the end of Sick Fic. Thanks to Mo.**

**I've borrowed some lines at the end, which of course are credited to Mark Gatiss (and as with all of this, I make no money, and the characters are not even slightly mine).**

**This immediately follows Sherlock's little experiment, and the line 'can you walk?'**

* * *

Can you walk?

John watched Sherlock leave, and he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He wasn't able to, so he shook his head, took a deep breath and moved to follow him.

With his second step, his left knee gave out, and he fell to a kneeling position. He swore, quietly. He tried to steady himself with his other leg, which also seemed to have turned to the consistency of rubber. He put his hands down and swore again, for good measure.

He concentrated on the floor-tiles for a moment, waiting for some of the feeling to come back to his errant limbs.

Sherlock's shoes appeared in front of him.

"I thought you said you could walk."

"I can!"

Sherlock waited a moment to see whether John would get back to his feet on his own.

"It would seem that you may be mistaken," he said.

John swore again.

Sherlock sighed, hook a hand under John's arm, and helped him to get upright. He let go and John stood still, fairly competently. John was quite pink, and looking intently at a lab-table.

"What is it with your legs?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know!" John gritted his teeth. "It's just a reaction that nobody can quite explain!"

"It's frustrating."

"You think?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"I meant for me. Do you think you can walk now?"

John took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yes."

"Are you sure this time?"

John curled his toes in his shoes. The feeling was coming back now, though annoyingly it was accompanied with a pins and needles sensation.

"Yes," he said. "I'm absolutely fine." He swallowed. In a calm and abstract way, he wondered where the Men's toilets were.

"Good! Let's go!" Sherlock turned away and quickly turned back again. "Wait, what's happened to your face now?"

"My face?"

"You were blushing, and now you've gone very pale."

John frowned. The complaints from his stomach suddenly had a heightened sense of urgency now, and he looked at Sherlock.

"Mm. Did you happen to see…?"

He stopped as Sherlock had already turned and marched away from him. He shook his head and followed him out and hoped that his stomach would settle down before long. He found Sherlock a few metres down the corridor, pointing at a door with a Gents sign on it.

"Thank you," John muttered and dove in. He decided that a good, hearty vomit was probably in order and got on with it.

He emerged five minutes later and found that Sherlock was waiting for him. John rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of this uncharacteristic patience.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked.

John swallowed and frowned.

"Yeah. Fine. Thanks."

Sherlock nodded and sniffed.

"Come on then."

Sherlock charged along the corridor to Stapleton's lab. John followed him breathlessly.

"Oh, back again," doctor Stapleton said. "What's on your mind this time?"

"Murder, Doctor Stapleton. Refined, cold blooded murder." Sherlock flicked the light off, and the rabbit on the table glowed, and John wondered just how drugged he was. "Do you want to tell Kirsty about what happened to Bluebell? Or shall I?"

"Fine. What do you want."

"I need to borrow your microscope."

Doctor Stapleton nodded at it, and Sherlock stripped his coat off and sat down. He dug a packet of sugar from his pocket and looked up.

"Oh, and John's lost some fluids, and he probably needs a nice cup of tea or something. He doesn't take sugar."

He settled down and got to work.


End file.
